Greyseer Chronicle, The
Category:Stories Category:Tharion (( Tharion's origin story. This is the part that none of you truly know. Visit the Netherbane The Greyseer Chronicle )) The Greyseer Chronicle: Part I A House Divided :- by Tharion Greyseer ...sometime before the Sundering... "Tharion!" the voice was excited, overly filled with energy. "Sztop with your sztudy and come! I believe it hasz sztarted." Tharion Draghei Mordaveh looked up from a huge leather bound volume at his approaching brother. His expression was even, although his mouth turned slightly downward at the interruption. "What has started, Azhaan?" Tharion did not make a move to get out of his seat. "I do not fully know, brother, but the highborne szay that Azshara has made a diszcovery. We go to the palacze now, you and I." Tharion fully frowned this time, he had no interest in the powers the quel'dorei were meddling with. In fact, he outright mistrusted the notion. "No, Azshaan. You go to the palace. I will continue reading." Tharion turned his eyes back to the large parchment pages in front of him. Azhaan strode forward in two steps and heaved the heavy book off the table at which Tharion sat. It fell with a painful tearing of pages to the stone floor beneath them. "Draghei, you VILL come vith me, thisz time . . ." Tharion shrunk back slightly at his brother's show of anger and merely nodded his head. "As you wish it, brother." ...sometime later, days, perhaps weeks... Tharion cowered in fear as the painful roaring soared over the broken wooden structure in which he hid. It was a house once, or so he believed. Tears ran down his cheeks as he huddled beneath what appeared to be the shattered remains of a table. His blurred vision showed him nothing now but colors, vague swaths of orange and yellow consuming the usually peaceful blues and greens of the once-village. The oranges and yellows danced in stark contrast to the withered blues and greens. Tharion blinked and squeezed some of the tears free, clearing his vision a little. The colors resolved themselves into a scene of devastation. Structures that were once houses burned. The trees around him, in all their majestic beauty, bowed and were broken, charred to a deep ashen color. Tharion saw movement to his left, and he instinctually shrunk back further into his corner. The thing was huge and terrifying to behold. Dark skin, gray as the night sky above it, stretched over an overly muscular frame. Crimson metal covered the beast's legs and arms in an armor that appeared to be as much for offense as defense. A small head hunched forward atop the thing's toso, and from this head protruded a large scythe-like bladed horn. A trio of much larger spines seemed to grow from the creature's back as well. Its faint glowing eyes glanced around the destruction, passing right over where Tharion hid, and its lipless mouth twisted into a horrifying visage of a smile. Tharion dared not breathe, uncertain if the demon thing could see him. A gutteral warcry made Tharion wince, and he watched in terror as the black armored beast plodded towards him slowly. A heavy spiked mace was grasped tightly in its hand. Tharion scurried out from under the broken table, knocking the remains of the furniture over. He broke into a run towards a darker part of the forest around the village, a place where no orange fires could be see. But he was not fast enough. The crimson armored demon was already upon him, and Tharion was sent flying as the massive mace shattered the stone just behind his feet, sending chunks of rock raining down in a painful shower of debris. The beast laughed again, a horrid sound that almost seemed to echo without echo. Tharion rolled himself over to look up at the approaching demon, and he instinctively raised his forearm over his head to defend against the coming blow, despite knowing that it would do no good. He just did not want to see ... A shiver of the land and a falsely-echoing scream told Tharion that the demon had fallen to the ground. Warily he peeked out from behind his braced arms. The beast was indeed on the ground, a polearm protruding from its back. The size of the demon made the spear appear to be nothing more than an annoying splinter, but the demon writhed in pain as it reached behind itself to wrench the weapon free. Tharion looked around quickly, glad that the beast's attentions were diverted away from him now. He bounded to his feet and began sprinting to the same area of forest that he had spied earlier. Safety, he thought as his legs began to carry him away from the demon and whomever had distracted it. An arm came out of nowhere and grasped Tharion's wrist, nearly causing him to fall over again. Tharion frowned heavily and turned to the kaldorei who held him. He was surprised to see his brother, Azhaan. "You VILL not run, Draghei!" Azhaan was fully equipped in combat gear, his long green hair tied back for now. A grayish set of chainmail hung oddly around his lithe frame, obviously meant for someone better formed to fill it out. Strapped to Azhaan's back were two slender, slightly curved, green hilted blades. "Sztay vith USZ! Sztay and fight vith father and I!" Tharion grew pale at the words, suddenly realizing who it was who had tossed the spear into the demon that had nearly flattened him. "Father . . . is here?" Tharion's voice was unsteady and laden with disbelief. "YESZ!" Azhaan shouted, pulling his brother back towards where the large creature had finally regained its feet. Tharion stumbled as Azhaan's insistence, falling forwards and catching himself harshly on a piece of shattered flooring stone. Azhaan let go and turned towards his brother, a look of disgust creeping across his face. "Veak . . ." was all he said before turning back to the ensuing battle, leaving Tharion alone once more. Years later... Tharion wandered through the forests, still alone since having left his family. He had survived the great explosion that sundered the world, he had watched as his beloved home were ravaged by the felbeasts from those who called themselves the Burning Legion. He had hid. Alone, he had hid. You are veak, Draghei, vhy curze uz vith your veaknezz? Azhaan's voice still echoed in his mind after all this time. The parting had not been pleasant. Fighting the demons had gone to Azhaan's head, it seemed, made him believe he was more than he was ... made him believe he was as great as their father was. Tharion knew better. Carrying a warblade and wearing mismatched, over-sized armor did not make one a warrior. It did not even make one LOOK like warrior. It just made one look foolish. And Azhaan was a fool. And now Tharion merely survived, hunting the beasts of the wood that were not fel-plagued for food and clothing. He had no home, no place to call his own. He only had what the ashen vale provided him. "You appear to be lost," a pleasantly sultry voice seemed to giggle from behind where Tharion sat upon a fallen tree. "It can happen to the best of us out here if you're not careful." Her Darnassian flowed from her tongue easily. Tharion turned his head to the voice with a start, a look of surprise upon his face. He stammered a response that he knew came out unintelligible. "Lost your tongue, too, eh?" The woman stepped out from behind a tree, a rather wide playful smile spread across her equally playful features. Her lithe figure was adorned with little, and Tharion could feel the blood rush to his face as she locked her silvery eyes with his. "I ... am ... I ... " Tharion's eyes drifted down her form slowly. He was gazing at her hips before he realized how far they had strayed, and he stammered once more. A muddled apology this time. "You are you, then?" The woman smiled wider. "Do you have any other name? Perhaps one more ... specific? Or shall I just call you Tongueless?" Her teeth bared at her little quip. "I ... " Tharion coughed and forced his wits about him, pushing away both the surprise and the distration that the woman had tossed upon him. "Tharion." "Tharion?" The female stepped closer and crouched near him upon the log. She smelled faintly of the sweet morning dawn. "Just Tharion? Or do you have a family name to go with?" Tharion shook his head, doing his best to keep his eyes locked with the woman's, and nothing else. "Ah, just Tharion, then." Her smiled played on her lips a little longer. "Perhaps I'll call you Tharion Tongueless. How about that?" A tilt of her head seemed to indicate that she was only half joking. "Just, Tharion. Please." "Well, Tharion. I am Elaia Shaillan, I hunt these woods." Elaia leaned forward and looked Tharion up and down, rather unabashedly. "I have not seen you here before. I though most of our males were asleep with the Great Green." Tharion shook his head. "I am no druid." Elaia nodded in understanding. "I see. I know a few who stay awake. They live back at camp." Tharion tilted his own head partially at the mention of a camp. Elaia seemed to notice the look. "I stay with ... a hunter, of a kind. He maintains a camp for those that he teaches. Perhaps ... perhaps you would like to see?" Tharion's stomach seemed to grumble havily. It had been a few days since he had hunted for food, and his body was letting him know. "Indeed. It would be welcome." Elaia smiled again, a warm grin of greeting. "Good, the shan'do will be pleased to find another." With that Elaia bounded off the log and into the forest with a speed that belied her tall frame. Tharion stood awkwardly but proceeded after her, unable to match the grace of her movements. Uncertain of where he was headed, he followed Elaia into the darkness ahead.